


The Witch's Waning

by MonJoh



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, POV Hunith (Merlin), POV Morgana (Merlin), Post-Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29834814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonJoh/pseuds/MonJoh
Summary: Life in Ealdor continues after Agravaine's aborted attack, but Hunith's peace is tested by Morgana's arrival. Morgana struggles to recover after her crushing defeat. Aithusa wants to play. A story of the quest for peace.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Unlike my other stories, there is little of Merlin or Arthur in this fic and nothing from their perspectives.

"Are you all right?" Hunith put an arm around the sobbing woman, gently pulling Olwen's head to rest against her own shoulder.

The men lit rush lights and gathered farm implements, surrounding the village by the light of the full moon to ensure Morgana's soldiers did not return. A cartload of straw had been lit on fire and two of the oldest boys were stamping it out. The women righted barrels that had been overturned and carts that had been dumped during the search or attempted to calm terrified children.

Olwen wiped her rough linen sleeve across her face as she straightened. "Thank you, I'm all right. I just...it reminded me of when Kanen's lot attacked and Matthew..."

Her voice trailed off and Hunith squeezed her arm in sympathy. No matter how many years had passed since Matthew's death, and despite being in love with Edern, Olwen still mourned her husband. Hunith could understand; small wooden carvings still filled each nook and cranny of her hut.

There was a wail from her left and she saw little Henry sitting in the dirt in front of his mother's hut, thumb in his mouth and tears and snot trailing down his face. Beth shouted at him to be quiet while she rocked a sobbing infant in her arms, her skirt pinned down by the twins attempting to hide in them. Hunith picked up Henry who immediately stopped crying and snuggled against her breast. She put one hand on his tangled blond head and hitched him higher on her hip. It had been so long since Merlin was small enough that his fears could be soothed with a hug.

She took stock of the damage to Ealdor. Small children had woken screaming and crying, men tried to force the black-robed strangers with their covered faces to leave, and women hid food, not knowing if they were being raided again. Now the fear and confusion was subsiding as word spread that the foreign warriors had been searching for Arthur. Thankfully, they had quickly abandoned their search of the village to chase Camelot's fugitive former king. She prayed to the gods her boy and his companions eluded their pursuers.

In Ealdor, the men stood guard and the women and children restored order and offered comfort and aid. Despite the peril they had briefly endured, none would begrudge Hunith having offered a bed and a place to heal to Camelot's deposed king, even if it had brought the violence spilling across the border into Essetir. Arthur was held in high esteem as Ealdor's saviour. It helped that Gwen was regarded as a hero for her part in defending them from Kanen and to this day none would hesitate to offer her shelter no matter the peril. Morgana, too, was fondly remembered both for fighting Kanen's bandits and her passionate appeal on behalf of the village women. It broke Hunith's heart to think she had sent soldiers to Ealdor, risking the villagers in her conflict with her brother.

Hunith straightened her headscarf as she looked around for anyone who might be injured. She had gathered the basics of her healing kit before rushing into the moonlit road.

"Hunith!" Jane shouted from the far edge of the village.

Still holding Henry, Hunith hurried in the direction of the pregnant woman's voice.

Sandy knelt on the trampled ground, doing her best to ease the pain of an elderly woman whose left leg was bent at an odd angle beneath her skirt. The moon was bright enough that Hunith could see how tightly Helen's lips were clamped and the lines of pain radiating from her eyes. Without asking what happened, Hunith handed Henry to Jane and dropped to her knees, heedless of the green goose shit trampled into the mud.

"Those soldiers were in an awful hurry to head into the hills," the elderly woman said, thin lips still gritted against the pain she must be in. "Ran me down in their rush."

Hunith hummed in acknowledgement, her attention on her task as she examined the broken leg. Helen grunted and squeezed her eyes closed. Hunith handed her a chunk of willow bark from the satchel tied at her hip and Helen bit down on it while Hunith worked.

Her gaze flicked to the heavyset blonde kneeling beside her. "Get me a couple of sticks, about as long as your arm and as straight as you can find."

Sandy jumped to her feet and ran to find splints.

"Where's Gwen?" Jane asked, rocking Henry on her hip, next to her swollen belly. "I hope she's all right."

"I hope so, too," Hunith said quietly.  All of them: Gwen, and Isolde, and Arthur, and Tristan, and Merlin.

Hunith's eyes strayed into the dark hills, outlined by moonlight, and hoped her boy and those he guarded had made it to the caves before the soldiers caught them.

She bit her lip and concentrated on ensuring that Helen would be able to use her leg again once it healed. If the bones mended wrong, she would have a crippling limp.

Sandy returned with two branches as long and thick as her forearm and handed them over.

"I need cloth," Hunith said.

"Here." Jane bent awkwardly to set Henry down, then unwrapped the scrap that tied her mousy brown hair back.

Henry immediately stuck his thumb in his mouth but did not resume crying.

Hunith finished wrapping the leg, broken bones aligned and braced on each side by a branch. When she was done, she looked at Helen. "Chew more willow bark if the pain gets too bad and stay in bed for a fortnight."

Helen raised one grey eyebrow in spite of the pain still obvious in her expression. "I don't have time to be lying in bed for a fortnight. I'll go easy on the leg, though."

"Good enough." Hunith got to her feet, shaking the mud and goose shit from her skirt, and easing the cramp in her legs.

Beth joined them, the baby in her arms hiccoughing in the aftermath of his sobs, the twins now each clinging to an older sister. Henry blinked up at his mother and she checked him over, relieved that he seemed calmer.

"Is everyone here all right?" asked Rolf as he and a few of the other men approached, scythes and rakes in hand.

Sandy smiled up at him as she wrapped her plump arms around his middle. "Everyone will be fine."

Edern laid down his makeshift weapon and picked up Henry, cradling the dirty little face against his shoulder and smoothing the blond hair several shades lighter than his own. A smile lit his broad face when Olwen threw herself at him. He shuffled the little boy into one arm and put the other around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head. His smile vanished at Beth's glare.

There was a blinding flare from the wooded hills above the village as if they had erupted in fire. For a moment, Hunith's heart stopped. That was near the entrance to the caves. The caves Merlin had headed for.

Spine-chilling screams followed the inferno and the village men grabbed their implements and raced in that direction. She picked up her skirt and ran after them, heedless of branches whipping her face or tree roots trying to trip her up. It was only when a sharp pain in her side forced her to slow and she bent over, lungs burning as she tried to gasp in enough air, that she heard the beating of monstrous wings. One hand pressed against the stitch in her side, she scanned the black sky.

Despite its dark colour, the immense dragon was not difficult to spot. Relief made her limp and she dropped to the leafy ground, one hand braced against the nearest trunk. She was familiar with the sound of those wings, forcing airways to hold the dragon's scaled bulk aloft as it moved at a speed she still marvelled at even after so many decades. She knew who had called him. And now she knew what the fire and screaming had been. Her boy was safe.

Ahead of her in the woods, she heard Rolf curse.

"Dragon!" one shouted, before the sound of the men's running boots headed back toward the village.

Using the tree as a crutch, she pushed herself upright, pinched her side to ease the biting pain, and continued toward the cave entrance. The screams had faded but the charred smell of burnt flesh and hair stung her throat.

The smell got worse as she neared the open area beyond the cave's largest entrance. She removed the green scarf from her head, wrapped it around her mouth and nose, and tied it in back. It screened the stink but not the smoke causing her eyes to water and sting.

She stopped. Under the full moon, with some of the trees at the other edge still burning, the clearing was as bright as day. She wished it were pitch dark because the sight caused her stomach to clench. She clamped a hand over her cloth-covered mouth.

Kilgharrah settled down among the bodies as if they were nothing more than a pile of ash, spiked tail curling around his haunches and monstrous horned head held haughtily above her.

"Merlin is safe," the alien voice boomed.

"Thank you," she said tightly.

If a dragon's brow could raise, his scaly face would have done so. "You do not appreciate my rescue?"

"I'm glad Merlin and the others escaped and I thank you for saving them." She averted her eyes from the charred bodies in front of her, swallowing back bile.

Kilgharrah snorted and lowered his head slightly, his enormous amber eyes blinking at her. "Not one of these would have made a mark in history, I assure you."

She gritted her teeth. In her experience, dragons were too casual about human life. Despite their great ability as Seers, and Kilgharrah had been called one of the best, they discounted the lives of people who did most of the planting and birthing and living and dying and watched only those few whose names were sung in ballads. For a moment, her gaze took in the hundred bodies spread across the clearing, each of whom could have been a father or grandfather many times over and no one, not even a dragon, could See what these men and all their progeny might have accomplished in lifetimes and generations lost.

"Where's the little one?" she asked of the white dragon, hoping Aithusa had not witnessed this slaughter. She was too young to see how a dragon's power could be used for destruction.

The Great Dragon snorted, a puff of putrid smoke and steam. "He is off on another of his play jaunts."

"She's a barely more than a hatchling; she's supposed to play."

The spiky face pinched as Kilgharrah's head lifted again. "He has a destiny to fulfil."

"She'll never fulfil her destiny without opportunity to grow and explore and learn."

For all his posturing, she knew Kilgharrah was rather amazed at Aithusa's quickly-growing powers. Recently, Hunith had allowed an axe handle to turn causing the blade to slice across her thigh. The bleeding had been intense while she simply stared in shock, unable to move or shout for help. Aithusa, who had been nearby, hopped to her side, took a breath, and enveloped Hunith in smoky breath. Sparkles had danced in the air around her and she thought she was losing consciousness, but her wound was healed. There was a dull ache and a scar beneath her torn dress, but she was able to walk. She had mumbled her thanks but Aithusa merely chirped and went back to chasing butterflies.

Aithusa reminded her of Merlin as a child; her passion for life. The white dragon found joy in everything from water bubbles in streams to leaves rustling in the wind. Magic fascinated her and she experimented endlessly. She had made a lair in one of the tunnels and divided her time between exploring the woods and exploring the caves where Merlin and Will had once played.

Now, her son was caught in events that spread devastation and mourning.

Hunith stared at the piled bodies, the ground still burning beneath them and ash and smoke drifting across from the burning trees. "Does anyone here live?"

The Great Dragon rose up, his gigantic head so high above that she craned her neck to hold his gaze. He shook out his wings wide enough to stretch nearly across the clearing, flapped them with enough force that she was knocked back a step, then lifted straight up into the air. In moments, he was gone. She was glad for the cloth still covering her mouth and nose because a whirl of ash and dust was stirred by the dragon's departure.

One of the charred bodies whimpered. Hope flared that one of these boys might survive. Swallowing back bile, she stepped among the tangle of charred corpses. She confined her gaze to their eyes, looking for one with life. Nearly beneath her boot, eyelids flickered and the soldier whimpered again. When his gaze fixed on her, tears leaked into the crispy remains of his hair as he made a noise she assumed was a plea for help. Blocking out the sights and smells all around, she bent to assess his wounds.

He lay partly beneath the corpses of two fellow soldiers, which had probably shielded him, but his headscarf had burned his faces and his weapon, red-hot in the dragonfire, had taken the skin off his hands. What she could see of his torso and legs appeared unharmed. She peeled the burned cloth from his lower face. His whimpers turned to hoarse cries. Her healing kit included a salve of pig fat and honey but she had given Helen the last of her pain reliever. She applied the salve to his face and hands, his eyes streaming but fixed on her.

When she had done what she could for his burns, she straighted and looked around. The bodies of his comrades looked much too heavy for her to wrestle off him.

She looked down, an apology in her eyes. "I'll be back," she promised, looking into the soldier's tear-filled eyes.

He whimpered, silently pleading for her to stay, but she turned away. Ignoring his weak moans, she picked her way around the clearing, trying to avoid stepping on bodies. One of the lifeless faces staring at the sky made her heart clench: the boy was younger than Merlin, with barely a dusting of hair along his jaw, his cheeks still slightly rounded. She reminded herself that if this boy had lived, her boy would be in danger, but she pictured his mother somewhere, not knowing what had happened to her son.

In an entire circuit of the clearing, only one pair of eyes blinked up at her, mouth moving beneath blackened bits of burned cloth that covered a face, but before she could do more than bend closer, the life left them. She did not find anyone else capable of making a sound or returning her searching gaze. Some may have eluded the dragon by fleeing, but no one else in this clearing was alive. She paused to bow her head in memory of the dead.

There were several gasps behind her. Rolf, Sandy's husband, stared around, wide-eyed, one large hand clasped over his mouth. Behind him, three other men had halted, frozen as their gazes darted around the moonlit clearing.

Rolf gaped at the destruction. "We could smell it from the valley."

"One of them survived." She pulled their attention to the injured soldier.

His whimpers had ceased, but his eyes were wide and pleading. She imagined he was still in a great deal of pain, though the salve should prevent infection from eating in where he had no skin left.

"We need to get him back to the village," she said.

Rolf motioned to the others and they pulled the bodies off the fallen soldier, their noses scrunched and faces turned away.

"Where are we taking him?" Edern asked. He had hold of the soldier's legs while Rolf and Tom each gripped an arm.

"Take him to my hut, I can continue treating him there."

As they made their way back to Ealdor, she looked up to see Kilgharrah's outline, wings spread, cross the face of the full moon.

#~#

In the days after her son's escape, other survivors of the dragon's attack trickled through the village. Hunith tended the wounded while her fellows shared what food could be spared, then the refugees continued on their way. Those who were capable paid for the hospitality by chopping wood or plucking chickens. None seemed eager to return to Camelot, but not all had a home elsewhere to return to. Many looked barely old enough to grow a beard. How many of these soldiers had been stolen from their villages in a raid like the one that had captured Gwen?

Most headed southward on foot, a few in other directions, with only the clothes on their back and the bit of food Ealdor could afford to share.

The last remaining refugee was a boy whose hands had been burned so badly he would not regain use of them. He had tried to communicate his name, but she had despaired of pronouncing it and resorted to calling him Reez.

She was applying salve to his blistered hands when Sandy called from beyond the curtained door of her hut. Setting aside her pot of pig fat and honey, Hunith wiped her hands on a rag tied around her waist and hurried outside to see an unconscious soldier suspended between two of his fellows, feet dragging uselessly, followed by three more bruised and limping men in cloaks and head scarves. She frowned at their shrivelled appearance, as if they had been without food or drink for a week. They were clearly Southron soldiers, but why they had taken so long to seek help was a mystery.

One stumbled and fell in the packed dirt surrounded by the collection of thatched-roofed huts. "Vosser," he croaked.

The others collapsed beside him, lowering their unconscious comrade to the ground before dropping to their knees, arms limp at their sides. She hurried to examine the unmoving soldier.

Sandy lifted up her skirts and ran to the water barrel as fast as her plump legs could carry her. Beth stuck her head out of her hut and Hunith shouted at her to fetch the men bowls of gruel.

"Try to get some water down his throat." Hunith indicated the unconscious man when Sandy returned.

While Sandy dribbled water into his mouth, Hunith felt along his limbs. He remained unresponsive but when she touched the swollen bruises at the base of his skull, he awoke with a strangled cry of pain before collapsing once more.

Sandy jumped back at his motion. "Should I keep giving him water?"

"That's enough for now. You did well." Hunith patted Sandy's hand. "You'd best get more for the others."

The two who had been carrying their fellow croaked agreement. Sandy held a wooden cup to the lips of the man who had asked for water.

"Not too much too quickly, though," Hunith warned.

He gulped it and Sandy had to tug it out of his hands. Before he could grab it again, she held it to the mouth of the next soldier whose lips were also dry and cracked. Despite their pleading, Sandy brought them each only one cup more and then went to help Beth carry bowls of gruel to the men where they sat on the ground.

Meantime, Hunith examined the the other men. They winced when she felt along their arms, legs, and backs, but there were no broken bones. One of the men, a red-headed boy who looked too young to be a soldier, had bruises on the backs of both hand already turning yellow.

She got to her feet. The soldiers' eyes followed her, darting between her and the other two women.

"Feed these five, give them a little more water each, and then send them to my hut." She mentally reviewed her inventory of bruise ointment. The most seriously injured soldier she would monitor, but there was not much she could do for him.

She hailed two of the village men just arriving with a cartload of wood to carry the severely injured man into her hut. "Lift him as carefully as you can."

She led the way to her home and held aside the curtain for her newest patient to be carried inside. When the soldier with the burned hands saw his comrade, he tried to lift himself, only to fall back with a cry of pain.

"You've got quite the collection of strays." Edern winked at her as he and Rolf laid the crippled man on the dirt floor beside her hearth.

Rolf merely rolled his eyes as they left.

She made the newcomer as comfortable as possible, careful with his head and broken neck, then returned to dressing Reez's burns. As she sat back, using her forearm to wipe moisture from her brow and careful not to get salve on her forehead where it may drip into her eyes, the other soldiers limped through her door. The boy with red hair and freckles swayed in the doorway, but he did not appear to be as battered as his comrades.

None of them were burned, though a few had singed clothing, so they had escaped the dragonfire but nothing explained the broken neck and bruising.

At sight of the new arrivals, Reez exclaimed happily and they all fell into an animated conversation that involved waving their arms and pointing at the sky. While they talked among themselves in a language she did not know, she administered salve to heal their bruises. Each of the former soldiers mumbled something she assumed expressed their gratitude.

The red-headed boy gave her a solemn look. "Thank you."

Surprised at his ability to speak her tongue, she said, "You're welcome." How well could he understand her speech? Would he be able to explain why it had taken them nearly a week to pass through Ealdor? "What's your name?"

"Caleb."

"What happened to you? After the dragon attack?"

The boy flinched at the word "dragon." "In cave." Caleb's speech was halting and his hands fluttered as if drawing her pictures in explanation. "I woke first. Dark. Leader dead. Tried find others. Many still sleep." He gestured at his companions. "Finally, all wake except one." He pointed to the soldier with the broken neck. "Find way out. Took time. Finally crawled to sun. Then went back, carry him out." The boy mimed dragging.

They must have been deep inside the cave to be lost, though without light they could have blundered around for hours even steps away from an exit tunnel.

"Why were you asleep?"

The boy shuddered and lowered his voice. "Sorcerer."

Her heart leapt into her throat. Had these men come in contact with her son, who had been forced to defend himself? If so, did she want to know what he had done? The fear in the red-headed boy's eyes made her heart clench.

"Told us be careful. Others not understand." He gestured at his fellows. "Maybe not believe. I tell go back." He mimed gesturing to leave. "Then too late." He flung his arms up.

She tried to calm her thundering pulse. "Who was there?"

"Us." Caleb indicated the soldiers who had arrived with him. "Leader. And Sorcerer."

"No one else? Not the king you were chasing or his companions?"

The boy shook his head.

She patted his arm, thanked him, and got to her feet to collect their dirty bowls. She set down the dishes on the board that served as a counter and leaned her palms on the unfinished wood. Her son and his secret were safe. Briefly, she closed her eyes and mouthed a prayer of thanks to the gods. Then she looked back at the battered group huddled in her hut and the unconscious man on her floor: soldiers who had been ordered to chase after fugitives, had barely escaped a horrible death by burning, and then been felled by magic. She said another prayer for them and the family of the man who was permanently crippled.

Reez looked up and said something to her she had heard several times in the past few days which she understood was a request for pain relief, and his fellows followed suit. They began pointing to places she knew from examination were tender, but she shook her head.

"I cannot do anything for the pain." She looked to her dwindling stock of willow bark. "I'll try to find something."

Caleb translated her words to the others, who looked at her with a mixture of tired disappointment and hope.

She wished she could communicate more easily with the men. Gwen had understood the Southrons without difficulty and could have acted as translator, but Gwen would not return to Ealdor. Surely Arthur would relent and end the misery of both of them. Hunith was happy for their reunion, but she would miss the young woman's company. It would have been good to have an extra pair of hands through spring and summer.

Morgana had also been gifted with the ability to speak several tongues.

Hunith remembered the sweet girl who had acted with such compassion and gentleness when Uther refused Hunith's pleas for help and the strong young woman who had trained her to swing a sword, then fought valiantly against men twice her size. That kind soul could not have become the monster some accused her of being and everyone in Ealdor would agree. Hunith had asked Merlin about Morgana, but he was tight-lipped. He had merely told her repeatedly the young woman was much changed and to avoid her in the unlikely event they crossed paths. Gwen had been likewise reluctant to discuss her former mistress and friend. The only information Gwen had shared was a warning that Morgana was not to be trusted and to be on guard if ever they encountered each other.

The idea that Morgana could be her enemy now was distressing. Sending soldiers after her brother, her rival for the throne, was understandable but her disregard for Eador's danger hurt. Hunith sighed. While Tristan's constant snide remarks about Arthur were undeserved, she agreed that kings--and kings' daughters--wreaked havoc on people who only wanted to plant and harvest and dance and marry and raise children. Perhaps now there could be peace at last.


	2. Chapter 2

Morgana's eyes fluttered as life and breath returned to her spent body. She blinked in awe and raised her head from the forest floor.

The dragon was beautiful. Its scales had a pearly sheen and its iridescent wings flashed a rainbow of colours when the light of the sun shone through them. Entranced, she braced herself with one arm, watching the magical creature as it soared straight up.

She had given up. Her powers were gone, her allies dead. She had been betrayed by everyone, her body bleeding into the refuse of the forest floor. Her vision had darkened as she fell to the ground, remorse more painful than the wound in her side, uttering pleas for forgiveness to her martyred sister. Morgause had sacrificed her life to give Morgana the means to defeat their enemies and Morgana had failed her. Had failed her repeatedly. In the end, the moment of her triumph, so carefully planned, turned to ash even as she grasped the final victory. Even her last, clumsy strike at Arthur's future queen had fallen short of its mark. Now there was no one to challenge their rule. They would continue Uther's work, to eliminate magic and those born with gifts they feared.

Refusing to let them see her rot in their chains, Morgana had used the last of her strength to escape the city. She had forsaken her people, abandoned them to Arthur's reign of terror, left them in the shadows, hunted and hated while she fled. When she closed her eyes, abandoned and alone in woods she had once ruled, she whispered to her sister to meet her beyond the veil.

Then the air around her shimmered with magic that lifted her hair like a cool breeze on a sweltering day and stitched together the ripped flesh of her side. The magic had sung to her, telling her there was still hope, pulling her back to the living world. When Morgana opened her eyes, a white dragon sat on its haunches, smiling at her. The goddess must have sent this ray of sunshine as an angel of mercy, a promise that it was not yet time to quit.

It called her to follow and she pulled herself to her feet, gazing up in wonder, not even knowing where the creature was leading her. It chirruped and squeaked in delight as it performed loops and dives for her entertainment, cheering her mind the way the creature had healed her body.

She dared not look away as she walked, afraid the creature would vanish, but finally she was too faint to continue without stopping for water. To her delight, the creature landed beside her on the bank of a wide lake. Tentatively, keeping one eye on the dragon and one on the bushes crowded down to the rocky shoreline, Morgana collected handfuls of blackberries, eating them raw to assuage her hunger.

Curiously, she had held out a few berries on her open palm, speaking softly to the dragon, hoping to urge it closer. "Are you hungry?"

The little one hopped nearer, sniffed Morgana's hand, chittered happily, and them promptly flew away. Terrified of being left behind, Morgana dropped the berries and ran after the dragon, only to see it circle back, chasing a blue butterfly.

Once her momentary panic subsided, she laughed at the little one's antics. It dove straight into the lake where a fish jumped, then straight back up, twisting and gyrating as if to get every drop of water off its body. Fire spouted from its breath, scorching its scales when it attempted to blow on them. It yelped when its own dragonfire touched its scales. Morgana could not restrain her laughter, despite the creature's dismay at being wet.

The dragon continued to perform for her while she drank again and picked more berries, popping them into her mouth uncooked.

"We can continue," Morgana called, wiping off the juice on her stained skirts.

The dragon cocked its head, squawked, and launched into the sky again. It flew much faster than Morgana could walk, but the dragon never outpaced her, never rose higher than the treetops, and seemed to deliberately stop near a river or lake when Morgana was thirsty. Eventually, she decided to rest, confident the dragon would not disappear while she slept.

In the morning, the creature was sitting on its haunches once more, head cocked as it regarded her. When she opened her eyes, it squawked and resumed their trek.

That night, she snared a squirrel and cooked it for her supper before bedding down to fall asleep listening to owls hunting.

The following day, she began taking note of her surroundings, wondering if the dragon had a destination. They were at the northern edge of the Forest of Ascetir, heading northwest, not far from the border that marked the boundary between Arthur's kingdom and Lot's. For an instant, she considered whether Lot could yet be persuaded to take up arms against Arthur. She stifled the thought.

She had no future to plan; no future and no past, only the beautiful white dragon, wings flashing in the sunlight, raw berries and birdsong for breakfast, and sizzling squirrel meat for supper. She walked and laughed at the dragon's antics and drank and ate and walked.

After many days they arrived at the northern edge of a green valley between hills pockmarked with caves. The steep, wooded slopes would be difficult to farm, but there must be a few peasant villages scattered among the trees. A tremor tingled along her spine, fear of enduring human company. People betrayed you. People abandoned you.

The dragon led her into the hills on the western slope, stopping less often to play and moving more quickly so that Morgana took fewer breaks for water and food-gathering. She kept one eye out for signs of habitation: trees that had been cut or cleared, roots that had been worn smooth, the smell of smoke, but there were none.

Then she smelled it: ash. It did not smell like woodsmoke, but a faint odour of charred meat turned her stomach. A crow shouted a warning at her approach.

She walked more slowly, listening for geese or chickens and watching for foot-worn paths. Instead of human dwellings, when she reached the edge of a clearing she saw a tangle of bloated bodies and charred limbs. If not for the familiar cloaks and head coverings, she would not have recognized these as human. In spite of all she had seen and smelled since her days as a coddled princess, she nearly retched.

When they arrived there, the ground itself was still on fire. They'd all been slaughtered, every last one of them. Morgana clapped her hands over her ears to drown out Helios's voice: the voice of a ghost, speaking of other ghosts.

Then she lowered her hands and looked sharply around the clearing. These were her troops. Had been her troops. The men she had assigned to Agravaine. His body would be here, as well. She dug the toe of her boot into the half-burned remains at her feet. Worthless failures. The bulk of Helios's soldiers had been boys barely able to swing a blade. They had allowed Arthur to escape.

She used her boot to roll the body aside. His sword was still in its scabbard, protected from the flames by its wearer's corpse. She pulled the blade free and weighed it on her left palm. It was heavier than she liked and its balance was off, but it would provide protection if she needed. She tied it around her waist. She kicked aside the next body, and then the next. Those who had been directly in the path of the dragon's blaze were nothing more than ash, and not even their weapons worthy of salvage. Here at the edge, however, she found a pair of boots small enough for her feet, with new soles and brass buckles, and a jewelled dagger tucked into the belt of one unlucky soldier. The boots she slung over her shoulder, the dagger she tucked into her pouch along with her needle, a few coins, and Morgause's healing stone.

She did not find the telltale cloak pin with the de Bois sigil that Agravaine always wore. Perhaps he had not been killed, after all. Probably her one true ally had proved false like everyone else.

Suddenly aware she had lost sight of the white dragon, Morgana dropped a charred satchel and looked around anxiously. For a moment, she heard only the crows she had disturbed and her heart squeezed into her throat, cutting off her ability to breathe. Then there was a telltale croak and she whirled to see the dragon on its haunches, head cocked as it watched her.

"I thought you had gone," she scolded gently.

The dragon chittered and bobbed its horned head.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have doubted you."

The little creature stretched its hind legs and spread its wings, then bobbed its head again.

Morgana looked around her, then back at the dragon. Could this little one have done such damage to an armed troop? No, she had seen the infant breathe fire and the swath through these soldiers was ten times as wide. The dragon that had attacked her troops was many times the size of this little white one. She looked up the slope where the opening to a tunnel gaped in the hillside. Perhaps they had reached its lair. Would an angry mother dragon swoop out?

The dragon hopped once, then spread its wings and lifted into the air.

Morgana hesitated. "Where were we going?"

Ealdor could not be far. For an instant, she considered seeking shelter, being among people she remembered as both kind and strong, but immediately dismissed the fancy. They had chosen Arthur's side. They would hate her for being a witch and she would ensure they feared her as well, with or without her magic.

However, instead of heading in the direction of the village, the dragon led her further down the slope and south.

Shortly, they reached a clearing edged by a stream and dotted with marigolds. There was a natural break in the blackberry bushes that crowded close to the water's edge, but no indication it was regularly frequented by humans.

While she drank her fill and ate several handfuls of berries, the dragon settled itself in the grass, chin on its forepaws and tail wrapped around its haunches, large blue eyes drooping. Morgana collected a stone from the streambank and stropped the edge of her new blade, then dried it with a clean corner of her sleeve. She exchanged her worn boots for the new ones and stood, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, testing the fit. They were a little wide at the heel and narrow at the toe, but they would do well.

Finally, she looked at the dragon. "Are you going to sleep there?"

The creature chirped, then stretched its wings and hopped on its back feet before taking to the air. It swooped inside a cave entrance.

The tunnel was cool and dark. Morgana followed the dragon to the edge of the beams of sunlight that penetrated the tunnel. The dragon pawed at a spot mostly clear of rock, then curled up not far away and closed its eyes. Morgana ducked outside to collect an armful of grass to cushion the gravelly cave floor, then piled the grass on her assigned sleeping area. She tucked her blade beneath so it was close to hand but hidden, before she curled up and slept.

#~#

Ealdor's valley emptied of renegade soldiers. Hunith's patients had healed as much as they could under her care: the burned man's hands were pink and curled like claws but no infection had festered; the man with a broken neck was unable to move his arms or legs, but he was lucid and had gained strength. His fellows built a cart to carry him before setting off toward the south. The only foreigner who remained behind was the red-headed boy, who said in halting English that his home had been destroyed in Helios's raid and asked if he could remain in Ealdor. Rolf and Sandy offered Caleb a home since both their daughters had married and moved out.

Hunith was glad to see the boys well again, but the emptiness of her hut reminded her of Gwen's absence. For a short while, it had been like having a daughter, or how she imagined it would be to have a daughter.

Now that it was safe, Hunith ventured alone up to her favourite clearing. It had been weeks since she replenished her healing supplies, and she had not heard of or seen the small dragon since before Merlin's brief, aborted visit. The weather was particularly fair: the spring sun burning down from a cloudless blue sky, with just enough breeze to lift the hairs at her nape. In the clearing, the scent of marigolds mingled with wet earth from the previous night's rain. Few villagers came this far up the hillside; even pigs generally foraged in the valley below.

After she had filled a basket with radish, bishopwort, garlic, wormwood, helenium, cropleek and hollowleek, she paused to dip a few handfuls of water from the stream. Then she sat with her back against a tree trunk, closed her eyes, and savoured the warm spring sunshine heating her face while listening to birds and squirrels and trickling water. She had yet to catch sight of Aithusa but the entrance to her lair was at the far edge of the clearing.

Hunith blinked up at the hillside dotted with caves and tunnels. Aithusa loved exploring those tunnels.

As if her thoughts had summoned the dragon, there was a thump and a distinctive squawk and then Aithusa's large blue eyes stared back at her. The dragon chirped excitedly and bobbed her head.

"Hello," Hunith said. "Where have you been?"

Aithusa stood on her hind legs, bleated her signature response, and lifted into the air. She circled upward almost vertically, performed a series of loops and dives, and landed once more in front of Hunith. She bobbed her head again.

Hunith lifted a brow. "I see. And were you well behaved?" she asked with mock seriousness.

The dragon cocked her head, bleated, and blinked her wide blue eyes.

"That's what Merlin used to say." A fond smile twitched her lips.

Aithusa chittered and hopped up on her hind legs. She had grown in the past weeks; her tail was longer, her horns sharper, and her back legs thicker. When Kilgharrah had first brought her to the caves, she had been the size of a crow. Now she was easily as big as a swan.

"Did you catch any butterflies?"

Her neck spikes twitched as she crouched, head darting from side to side. Then she dived among the trees and returned chasing a butterfly.

Hunith laughed. "What else did you catch?"

Aithusa landed on all fours, stood on her back legs, and squawked. Then she hopped into the air, looked back at Hunith, and squawked again.

"All right." Hunith brushed grass from her hands and stood, stretching. "I need to go for a walk, anyway." The sun had made her sleepy and there was much to do yet today. She cringed at the thought of the pile of mending sitting in a corner of her kitchen, mending Gwen was not around to help with. "Lead the way."

The little dragon bleated and flapped her translucent wings, heading for the nearby cave entrance. Hunith hoped they would not go deep into the tunnels; she was dressed for the warmth of an early spring afternoon, not the cool dimness of a cave.

When she reached the entrance, Aithusa bleated softly, almost like a whisper, and moved stealthily into the shadowed interior. Hunith walked softly, wondering at the need for quiet.

Sunlight did not penetrate far into the tunnel, and Hunith paused, squinting, though Aithusa appeared to see without difficulty in the dim light. Not wanting to explore today or disturb an animal that had taken shelter in the cave, she was about to call the dragon back and turn around when she saw a bundle of what appeared to be cloth piled on a sandy spot at the edge of the cave. It did not look like fur or feathers and Hunith crept closer, wondering if Aithusa had discovered another renegade soldier.

As she moved further in, her shadow slid off the bundle and a faint bit of sunlight showed a human hand, fingers clenched tightly on frayed sleeves. The cloth was black but not the garb of a Southron soldier. It looked like a young boy from the thinness of the arms and slight build. The figure was curled in a ball, arms wrapped tightly around.

Hunith opened her mouth to reassure the child he would find food and shelter in the village when the figure sprang up, a metal blade glinting in the faint light. She fell back, startled at how quickly the sleeping figure had wakened and drawn a weapon, then froze in shock.

She stared at the sharp features of a young woman who seemed to have aged a dozen years in the short time since she had last seen her. "Morgana?"

At the sound of her name, the witch raised her blade, but Aithusa croaked and landed between the two women, wings outstretched. Hunith turned and ran.

She broke into the sharp sunlight of the clearing, not daring to slow down or stop for her basket, and was halfway back to the village when she risked a look back. There was no sight or sound of pursuit. Hunith put one hand on her chest, willing the beating to slow, her gaze darting around. Morgana had magic; it was fruitless to run, yet there was still no sign of the witch.

Hunith's gaze trailed back up the wooded slope toward the clearing and the cave. Should she return? Aithusa had seemed oddly comfortable in Morgana's presence. Perhaps she had been wrong to flee without reason, letting Merlin's and Gwen's warnings influence her reaction.

Hunith looked down the slope toward Ealdor, debating her next action. Then she looked up the slope toward the clearing and took a deep breath. No sense returning without knowing why Morgana was here and whether she intended to remain nearby. She would go back, call for Aithusa, and then approach Morgana, making certain not to startle her this time.

#~#

Morgana dreamt she was fighting bandits, teasing Arthur the way she did when they were children, keeping one eye on Gwen to ensure her friend did not come to harm. She was surrounded by armed women, shouting encouragement to them while they fought at her side. A shaft of sunlight pierced the cloudy sky above and she grasped her blade and leapt to her feet. She was in a cave, facing an indistinct figure backlit by a ray of sun.

"Morgana," the intruder gasped.

She had been recognized. She lifted her blade. The little dragon flapped its wings and squawked. Her enemy turned and ran.

She took a step toward the cave entrance the woman had fled through, but the dragon hopped on its hind legs, squawking and flapping its wings. Small as it was, its wingspan blocked the passageway. One of the flapping membranes slapped her cheek hard enough to sting.

"Get down." She used one arm to ward off the dragon and tried again to pursue the woman who had threatened her, but when a flicker of dragonfire illuminated the tunnel, she fell back.

She had never been afraid of her rescuer, but the smell and image of the burned soldiers reminded her that dragons were to be treated cautiously. She retreated another step. The dragon relaxed, though its neck spikes still stood up sharply. It emitted a bleat that sounded like a reprimand.

When Morgana started once more toward the entrance, the dragon's wings lifted again, so she slowly put down her blade, knowing the jewelled knife remained tucked in among her laces. She held up her empty hands before taking a step forward. The dragon gave her a suspicious look, but made no further effort to interfere with her progress.

Hands still held up, palms out, she edged between the dragon and the bare rock. "I'm going outside to see where our visitor went."

To her surprise, the dragon nodded its head, chittered, and loped into the clearing ahead of her. She followed cautiously, hand resting on the sharp jewelled hilt beneath the frayed layers of her bodice. When she reached the clearing, she paused and looked around. No one was in sight. Her heartbeat slowed, though it would be unsafe to remain here now that she had been discovered.

The clearing was lit by late afternoon sunshine, the scent of marigolds and buzzing of bees thick in the air, the stream tripping over rocks and tree roots. It was a beautiful place; Morgana was sad to leave so soon.

"We have to go," she said to the dragon.

She headed for the woods despite the grumbles of her stomach that it was time for an evening meal. At least she had decent boots to cushion her torn feet. She got to the edge of the clearing and looked over her shoulder to see if the dragon would choose a different direction, but the little creature stretched out on the grass and rested its chin on its paws.

She stopped walking. "Are you coming?"

The dragon's spiked tail twitched but it made no move to get up.

"That woman will bring more of her kind," Morgana warned.

She took a step backwards, watching to see if the dragon followed, but the creature remained where it was.

She hesitated. How could she convince the suddenly obstinate dragon to come with her?

She approached the little one, cooing and speaking softly. When its head came up, horns erect, she gestured toward the woods and began walking backwards again. "Come on."

Instead of following, the dragon simply dropped its chin on its paws. Biting her lip, she looked down the slope in the direction the woman had probably gone, toward Ealdor. How much time did they have before their pursuers came back, armed and ready to drive them away?

"Okay, I'm leaving." Morgana walked further into the woods this time, listening for the flapping of wings.

For a long time she stood hidden among the trees, hoping the dragon would follow now that she was out of sight, but there was no sound of movement.

She edged back a little, stepping softly to disguise her return. The dragon sat in the clearing where Morgana had left it.

Nerves edged up her spine. The villagers would be here soon and it would not do to be caught so easily. She was about to scare the dragon into flight, when a a twig snapped beneath a foot. Morgana's breath caught, her heart beating wildly. It was too late.

"Aithusa," a woman called from the clearing.

The dragon chirped and hopped up, leaping into the air and then landing near the woman. Morgana gasped in surprise. When the woman's head snapped around, her gaze searching the woods where Morgana stood, she gasped again.

She knew that woman. Her familiar green head scarf with a few tendrils of dark hair brushing her neck, her clothes neatly mended, her blue eyes so like Merlin's. Morgana had not seen Hunith since the day she kissed Morgana's cheek and pressed a cloth-wrapped slice of warm, blackberry pie into her hands, wishing her well on the return journey to Camelot. Before Hunith's son had shown what treachery he was capable of. Before Morgana understood that those who pretended to offer friendship could not be trusted.

Suddenly angry, Morgana marched into the clearing. "Hunith."

"Morgana." Hunith's gaze scanned her up and down.

Morgana straightened her spine. She was a witch to be feared, even absent her powers her glare struck terror into men larger and more intimidating than this small peasant. She would regret having sided with Arthur against Morgana. The witch drew herself up, her signature glare fixed on Hunith.

Hunith's blue eyes widened. "You're hurt."

Morgana glanced down at herself. There was a long rip in the right side of her black dress, the torn edges stiff with dried blood.

"I can help," Hunith offered.

The peasant woman gestured to her side and took a cautious step closer. Morgana stiffened and put a hand on the hilt of her hidden dagger.

Hunith stopped. Then her gaze narrowed and she cocked her head, looking between Morgana and the little dragon. "Did Aithusa heal you?"

Surprised to hear her refer to the creature by a name, Morgana frowned. "Yes."

Slowly, Hunith raised her skirt and shift to display raised white scar tissue on her thigh. "She healed me, too."

For a moment, Morgana felt betrayed. She glared at Aithusa, who simply chirped and hopped on her hind legs, wings spread.

"Aithusa likes you," Hunith said.

"How do you know her name?" Morgana asked, perplexed and wary.

Hunith's expression closed.

Suspicion crawled up the back of Morgana's neck. "Why aren't you afraid of a dragon?"

This time, Hunith could not disguise her surprise. "This little one?" She smiled down at Aithusa who squawked and shook her head as if amused. "Aithusa is one of the sweetest-tempered dragons I have known, though she is also the only hatchling I ever met."

Morgana gaped in awe. "You've known dragons?"

"Yes." Hunith's blue eyes fixed on Morgana. "In my youth, there was an old man here in the village who could speak to dragons. They would land here," she indicated the sunlit clearing, her gaze wistful.

Something in her tone held a note of falsehood, but her tale of having met dragons rang true."You knew a dragonlord?"

"I did," Hunith said softly.

Ashamed of being momentarily impressed, Morgana took a few steps closer to the village woman. "I'm a witch."

"Yes, we heard." There was no indication of disgust in her expression, but there was a great deal of curiosity. "We heard many tales of you. I doubt all are true, though I do believe you have magic."

Morgana frowned in confusion. She had expected more reaction. Many realms outside the Five Kingdoms were inhospitable to those who practiced magic, regions like the Sarrum's dominion even eclipsed Uther's reign of terror. The people of Ealdor should be no different from frightened peasants anywhere. Perhaps Hunith was an anomaly because of her son's childhood friendship with a sorcerer.

Her son who had allied with Morgana's sworn enemy.

"You chose Arthur," Morgana accused.

Hunith tilted her chin. "What do you mean?"

Angry at the subterfuge, Morgana put her hands on her hips. "You hid Arthur from me."

"I offered him shelter, yes, and Gwen, too, after she was banished."

So that was where the faithless chit had fled after evading the hunt: Ealdor.

"We don't forget the debt we owe to those who aided us in our time of need," Hunith said quietly. "Arthur, Gwen, you."

A stab of regret such as Morgana had not felt in a long time pierced her chest. She stamped it down. "You aided my enemies, not me. You picked your side, you and your son."

Hunith shook her head. "I don't question my son's loyalty, but we're in Essetir; Ealdor has no interest in who sits on Camelot's throne. We only want peace."

Morgana narrowed her gaze. "What will your fellow villagers do once they know I'm here?"

Hunith tilted her chin. "Do you want me to tell them?"

Morgana opened her mouth, then closed it again, not certain what she had been about to say. Was Hunith offering to keep Morgana's presence a secret? Why would she do that? There was little to be gained from allegiance with an outcast witch. "What do you want?"

"Want?" One dark brow arched beneath the fold of green cloth over Hunith's brow.

Annoyed with the game, Morgana gritted her teeth. "What is your price to forget you saw me?"

Hunith looked disappointed. "If you prefer I don't speak of this, just tell me. But you look thin." Hunith's sharp blue eyes tracked up and down Morgana's form. "If you like, I can bring you food tomorrow. We have a little extra cheese and there's cabbage and we just baked a dozen loaves of bread."

Despite her refusal to show weakness, Morgana's stomach growled. It had been weeks since she had tasted bread or cheese. Even the memory of dark, heavy barley bread made her mouth water. She scowled at her stomach's betrayal, certain Hunith had heard. "I'm not hungry." Let the woman dare call her a liar.

"Well, I planned to picnic here tomorrow, anyway. I usually pack too much so if you change your mind there might be enough for two."

Morgana put her hands on her hips. "We'll be gone by tomorrow."

"We?"

Morgana bit her tongue. The dragon--Aithusa--seemed comfortable here. It was possible this had been her destination all along and she had no intention of leaving. The witch lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. "Aithusa and I. Or maybe I'll leave and she'll stay, I haven't decided."

Hunith nodded. Morgana was certain the woman hid a smile. How dare she; Morgana was a High Priestess, the only one able to return magic to the Five Kingdoms. Except she had failed.

"Then I won't see you tomorrow and I'll eat my picnic by the stream there with the sun on my face and the bees buzzing and try not to fall asleep with a full belly."

The tempting picture made Morgana's jaw clench to hold back any evidence of how much she wished to lie in this clearing and eat bread and cheese and enjoy the day the way she could have in her youth, before magic, before destiny.

"But I've put off my mending long enough." Hunith glanced up at the western sky. "Goodbye, Morgana. Goodbye, Aithusa."

The dragon squawked and bobbed her head. Hunith waved as she turned to go. Morgana crossed her arms and stared into the distance, refusing to acknowledge the farewell.

As Hunith disappeared down the wooded slope, Morgana considered whether it was a ruse and the woman would be back in the dark with a mob of villagers. If so, they would find Morgana was not as defenceless as it might appear, though she did not believe Hunith was that treacherous. The woman was an open book, unable to hide anything of importance. More likely she would be back the next day with the picnic, not that Morgana cared.

Certain she was alone once more, she knelt by the stream and scooped up several more handfuls of cool water, then gathered more blackberries. They were not quite as sweet and tasty as earlier and her stomach grumbled at the meagre supper but Morgana did not feel like hunting or trapping.

She ducked back inside the cave, grateful when Aithusa followed her in, and they both curled onto the beds they had abandoned earlier. Morgana closed her eyes, ignored her aching belly, and hoped for sleep to come quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read, and offered kudos or comments.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wonderful betas wryter501 and MmeMorganLeFay.


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